Every summer has a beginning.

Not a date on a calendar,
but a feeling.

The city becomes too loud.
The days too predictable.
And somewhere in Provence, behind stone walls and cypress trees, a house waits to be lived in again.

Friends arrive.
Champagne is opened.
Music travels through open windows.
Conversations stretch beyond midnight.

The house fills with life.

And then, just as suddenly, morning arrives.

The guests disappear.
The helicopters leave.
The bottles remain.

What interests me is not the celebration itself, but what comes after.

The silence after laughter.
The traces left behind.
The rituals that transform excess into memory.

This new collection, photographed in Provence, is an exploration of those moments.

A woman alone.
A swimming pool.
The aftermath of summer.

Not because she is expected to restore order.

Because she understands that beauty lives not only in celebration, but also in caring for what remains once it is over.

Three photographs.

A love letter to summer, friendship, and the privilege of being the last one awake.